Bookworms
by RandomGeek17
Summary: I pull my cardigan tighter around myself. "I wasn't looking were I was going." "Here," he bends down and picks up my book, "I really shouldn't be lounging in the aisles myself." He gazes down at me with a faint smile playing at his lips. AU. Sherlolly fluff.
1. Bookworms

I flip the book page, so engrossed in the story that I don't see the long legs stretched out across the aisle. I trip over them and barely catch myself from face planting into the dark green carpet.

"Oh, my! I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" The owner of the legs jumps up and rushes to me. He towers over me at six foot with black curls flopping into his green eyes, or are they blue? They seem to change. He's wearing black skinny jeans, a dark purple t-shirt, and a black hoodie. He must be about a year older than me, twenty or so. I realize I've been staring and cough.

"Yes, I'm fine thank you." I pull my cardigan tighter around me. "I wasn't looking were I was going."

"Here," he bends down and picks up my book, "I really shouldn't be lounging in the aisles myself." He gazes down at me with a faint smile playing at his lips.

"Thank you." I take the book from his hands and begin walking away.

"The name's Sherlock." He calls to me. I turn to him, confused.

"I'm Molly."

"It's nice to meet you, Molly." He holds his hand out for me to shake. I take it.

"I'll be going now." I mean to sound confident but it comes out like a question.

"There's a lovely pair of couches just around the corner. If you're looking for a place to read that is."

"Mmmhmm…" I'm entranced by his eyes again, "Oh, thank you." I turn my back on him again and head in the direction he mentioned though I've been here many times. I glance back at him and am surprised to see him only a few feet behind me, following me, with a smile that makes my insides flutter. I quickly look away hoping he doesn't notice the blush creeping its way up my neck. As I make it out of the aisle, I hurry to the couches. This bookstore has always been customer friendly with couches and coffee and cookies. I plop down on one of the three couches and prop my legs up on the brown cushions. I feel a slight dip in the couch as Sherlock sits cross-legged next to me, nose in a book. I open my book again and start where I left off though I keep ready the same sentence over and over again. I glance up at my reading companion and he's looking at me over the rim of his book. I glance back down at the book before looking up at him again. This goes on for about five minutes. Sometimes I catch him looking at me, sometimes not. I don't know why he would be though. I'm not my older sister. She's a model, really, that's her job. Beautiful body, gorgeous hair, flawless skin. I'm just me. I'm wearing baggy jeans, a plaid shirt with a red and white ziz-zag cardigan, and my beat up, black Converse. My hair is up in its usual ponytail and I didn't bother putting makeup on today.

"Okay, I can't take it anymore." He shoots up off the couch, "Molly, will you do me a favor-"

"Yeah, I was just leaving." I hang my head dejectedly and get up. Obviously I was creeping him out with all my staring. I probably encroached on his usual reading spot too. I walk away.

"What? No, Molly, wait." He runs up in front of me, stopping me, "I don't want you to leave."

I look up at him confused, "What do you want then?"

"I would like, I mean if you want to. I'm not sure if you would even be interested. You can say no."

"Interested in what? You haven't asked me anything to say no to yet."

"Right, would you join me for a cup of coffee?"

Are my eyes playing with me or is he blushing? I'm too focused on his face to register what he said at first. He stares at me, waiting for an answer while I'm too shocked to say anything. My mouth hangs just slightly open. He coughs into his fist.

"Oh, um…sure." My words catch in my throat and barely come out audible, "I'd love a cup of coffee, Sherlock." I say a bit more confident.

"Brilliant."

We walk to the corner of the bookstore where they have the coffee shop. He orders two coffees and walks them to the table with all the cream and sugar and whatnot.

"Cream or sugar?"

"Both, please."

We ease into a comfortable silence, sipping our coffee. In that fifteen minute coffee break I find out that Sherlock is indeed twenty, he lives in a flat with his friend John Watson, has a dog named Red Beard, and plays the violin. He does most of the talking, asking me questions every now and again but I enjoy listening to him. His voice is powerful but soothing.

"My friends and I are having a small dinner party tomorrow evening at my flat if you'd be interested." He states after finishing off his coffee.

"I…I don't suppose I have anything going on tomorrow. What time?"

"Seven o'clock." He smiles again sending butterflies into a frenzy in my stomach.

"Should I dress a certain way?"

"Just the way you are is perfect."

Heat bursts through my cheeks and I drop my gaze to the floor.

"Well, I best be off. It was very nice to meet you, Molly, and I can't wait to see you again tomorrow." He starts walking away.

"Oh, Sherlock!" I rush up to him, "I didn't get your address."

"The address is 221 B. Baker St." he says with a wink and saunters off toward the door.

I sit back down on one of the couches nearby and open my book. I can't wipe the stupid smile off my face.

**AN: Not sure if I should make this more than a one-shot for now. Please R&R. Thanks. :)**


	2. The Dinner Party

I hesitate at the door of Sherlock's flat, wondering what I've gotten myself into, when a beautiful blonde girl skips up next to me.

"Hello, you must be Molly." Her hair is cut in a pixie style with a sparkle headband encompassing it. She's got grey stocking on with black flats and a black coat draped around her. I shake her outstretched hand.

"Yes, I am."

"I'm Mary, John Watson's girlfriend. You here for the party?"

I nod. I'm not very good at socializing.

"Great!" she gently grabs my elbow and pulls me through the door. She leads me up a staircase and into what seems to be a living room. It's simple but sophisticated. A lovely fireplace adorns the left wall with a skull sitting on top. I wonder if it's real. There are two windows looking out onto the street below with a desk situated in between them. A couple of cushioned chairs are lounging in front of the fireplace that crackles with life. A man emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray of drinks.

"Mary!" he sets the tray down and gives her a deep kiss right on the lips. She pulls away after returning it and introduces me as he takes her coat. She's wearing a black and grey striped dress that hugs her body perfectly. It reaches just above her knees.

"Darling, this is Molly."

"Hello, how are you? I've heard so much about you." He's wearing a light brown jumper and a pair of jeans. His hair is sandy blond and there is a ghost of a mustache on his lip. Wait…heard so much about me? I don't remember telling Sherlock a lot about myself.

"I'm well, thank you."

"That's good. Can I take your coat?"

"Yes, thank you." He hangs it on a hook near the door next to Mary's. Suddenly the door bursts open and Sherlock barges in.

"John! We have a problem. They were out of minced garlic. How can they run out of the bloody minced garlic?" he shakes his coat off to hang it up and then realizes he has company. He turns slowly to me.

"Molly! You came." He drops the bags in his hands and strides towards me. It seems like he's leaning in for a hug but I awkwardly try to avoid it. He straightens up and coughs into his fist. I mentally kick myself. I screw up everything.

"Right. Sorry." He picks up the bags again and heads into the kitchen to join John. I turn to see Mary smile at me from the couch with a look like she knows everything. The only problem is I don't know anything.

"Care for a drink?" she hangs me a glass, steam racing to the sky. I smell it. Apple cider.

"Thank you."

"So Molly, tell me about yourself."

That's an awful question to ask me. I'm about as boring as a rock.

"Well, there's not much to tell. I work part time at the hospital morgue." Mary's smile looks forced. I don't blame her. "And I like to read. Um…I'm not very good at this."

"That's alright. I understand. John was the same way when I met him. It was so hard to get much out of him but it was worth it."

"Where did you meet?"

"Oh, now that's a funny story. Last winter I was at the zoo just looking at the animals when I saw him. He was with Sherlock, like always. I smiled at him and he kind of just stood there, stunned. They walked away and I went back to browsing. As I was looking down at the penguins flapping around, eating their fish, he approached me. I glanced up at him then back at the penguins. He stood there for a minute just staring at me. Normally I would feel creeped out but not with him. I felt content. Anyway, he finally spoke, just one word. 'Penguins?' he said. Then I started laughing. I wasn't trying to be rude but he was so cute and awkward. He took my laughing as rejection at started backing away but ran into the railing and fell over the edge into the penguin exhibit. He was alright but completely embarrassed."

"That's such a great story." I smile. Some girls have all the luck.

There's a knock on the door before another man enters, "Oh, hello, Mary." He says before hanging up his coat.

"Hi, Greg." She replies.

"And you must be Molly." He turns to me.

"Yes." It seems everyone knows who I am.

Dark hair, dark eyes, and a gun strapped to his belt. Intimidating. Sherlock immerges from the kitchen.

"Just in time, Lestrade. Would you please leave your gun at the door?"

Greg shrugs and puts his gun in his coat pocket.

"Extra filing today?" Sherlock states.

"I really don't want to know how you found that out. I just want to eat."

"Very well. Dinner is served."

We all make our way to the kitchen were a table has five setting. A large roast is settled in the middle surrounded by side dishes. Roasted potatoes and carrots, gravy, and a salad. Everyone takes the seat I suppose they are accustomed to. Sherlock at one head of the table, Greg at the other end, John and Mary on one side, and I am left to sit by myself on the other. The food is delicious and everyone enjoys it very much. They make small talk and I add in bits and pieces. It's a lovely time. After everyone finishes up, we retire to the living room, leaving the dishes to be sorted out later. We all get a mug of apple cider and sit by the fire. John is in one of the cushioned chairs with Mary on his lap, Sherlock and Greg have pulled up two chairs, and I am in the other cushioned chair by the insistence of Sherlock.

"What now?" Greg asks.

"Well, I think we should stick to tradition." Mary states. John groans. Sherlock smiles. I sip my cider.


	3. The Deduction

Sherlock gets up and grabs a pack of sticky notes, passing one out to everyone along with a pen.

"What are we doing?" I imply.

"Write a name on the note, don't show anyone, and place it on one of our heads. We all have to guess who we are." Sherlock replies. I do as I'm told and write the name William Shakespeare on the paper. I stand and walk to Sherlock. He looks up at me expectedly. He's going to make me place it on his forehead, damn him. He doesn't even bother to move his bloody hair out of the way. I quickly sweep the black curls off his forehead and rub the sticky note against his skin, a bit harder than I should have. He stands up and towers over me, a sly smile dancing on his lips. He gently places the note in his hand on my forehead, his movements sending shivers down my back.

"Get a room, you two." Greg groans. I blush deeply and sit down. I look at everyone's notes and smile. Mary is Rose Tyler from Doctor Who, John is Elmo from Sesame Street, Greg is Tom Hiddleston, and Sherlock is, of course, William Shakespeare. I wonder who I am.

"So how do we play?" I ask.

"We go around the room and each of us is allowed one question per turn. Last one to guess losses." Mary states. "I'll start. Am I female?"

"Yes." Everyone says.

"Your turn, John." She looks down at him fondly.

"Am I a real person?"

"No."

"Am I William Shakespeare?" Sherlock asks, nonchalantly. My mouth drops.

"How did you know that? Did you cheat?" it's completely unfair. Instead of looking at Sherlock disappointedly, everyone is staring at me with shock. "What? Have I got something on my face?"

"You don't…he hasn't…"John starts then turn to his flat mate, "Sherlock!" he says surprised.

"What is wrong with you all? It's like you've seen a ghost." He remarks.

"Sherlock didn't deduce anything when you met?" Mary asks me.

"Deduce? No. What do you mean?"

Her face breaks open into a smile too large to contain, "Sherlock is crazy smart. Like an IQ of 3,000 or something."

"Mary, please." Sherlock interrupts.

She shushes him, "Everyone he meets he can tell everything about them by just looking at them. He knew my whole family history before I even introduced myself. Most people find it annoying or obnoxious but we find it remarkable. I just don't understand why he didn't do it to you."

I sit quietly, contemplating everything she just said. I can't really be true, can it?

"Alright. Prove it." I tell Sherlock.

"Now?" he looks stunned.

"Yes." I don't break eye contact with him though he drops his gaze momentarily but lifts his eyes to mine again.

"Molly, I really don't want to. Not here."

"Are you scared? I want to know for myself."

"Fine." He states. "You're nineteen. You live with your mother on Paddington St. above a cleaners. You have a pet canary and goldfish."

"How…" I interrupt.

He ignores it, "You have an older sister. You wish you were her. You feel like a failure and…"

"Stop! Just stop!" I shout at him, tears racing their way down my face. I stand and rush out the door, hearing voices yelling behind me.

"Well done, you bloody idiot." John shouts.

"You couldn't have made something up?" Greg puts in.

I hurry down the stairs and out into the welcoming cold. The tears pour endlessly down my cheeks. Rain begins to pelt the sidewalk and quickly turns into a downpour. I scuttle under a shop canopy and decide to wait it out. It should let up soon; if not, I can just call a taxi. I lean my head against a post, close my eyes, and let the tears fall. He's right, I am a failure. I'll never amount to anything more than a boring pathologist.

"Molly!" I hear a distant shout. I lift my head. "Molly!" Sherlock runs past me, and I stand. He hurries back to my dry, little spot. "Molly, I'm so-" I slap him across the face.

"Don't talk to me. Don't ever."

"Listen to me, Molly. I am so sorry. I warned you; once I get started, it possesses me. I can't stop."

"Well, thank you for the lovely night and great reminder of how useless I am. Goodbye." I turn my back on him and head out into the rain, not caring how wet or cold it is. He hurries out after me.

"It's not true." He says to my back. I turn. A car speeds by, illuminating him. His dark curls are flat and sticking to his face, his mouth turned down, his eyes sad. His dress shirt lies tightly against his chest, outlining it.

"Yes it is and you know it. You said so you-"

He steps closer to me, "No, Molly. It might be true that you think your useless or a failure but it's not true. It's not what I think." He keeps inching closer until he's looking down at me and I can feel his breathe on my face. "Do you want to know what I think?" he asks and pushes my hair behind my ear. "I think you are beautiful." I scoff. "No, really. You are incredibly smart. You're caring and have such a big heart."

"No one's said that before." I admit.

"That's because no one was looking. I am though. I'm looking at you, Molly, and I like what I see."

Heat rushes to my cheeks and I'm too afraid to look at him. He fixes that by lifting my chin with his fingers.

"You know what else I think?"

"No." my voice is weak and small.

"I think it would be brilliant to feel your lips on mine."

Before I can register that, he's right there. His lips are warm and taste like apple cider. And then I'm kissing back. I push against him, running my fingers through his wet hair. I'm up on my tiptoes, trying to get more of him. After a few moments, we break apart and rain infiltrates the space between us again.

"My mum's not home." I say, staring at my toes.

"I know." He smiles. I grab his hand and we hurry away through the rain.


End file.
